


to sprout anew

by negi



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Car Accident, Gen, Happy Ending, Hinted Depression, Injury, yuta-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25456354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negi/pseuds/negi
Summary: Even a pillar can crumble.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 72





	to sprout anew

**Author's Note:**

> a yuta-centric story written for [fleur zine](https://twitter.com/nctwayv_fleur), based on the verbena flower :)

Yuta loves what this forest does to his senses. He can feel the crunch of soil and fallen leaves clearly through the soles of his little shoes, as if he were walking barefoot through the unmarked trails. All around him are whispers swaying through branches and insects buzzing in his ears; chirping birds try to swallow the sounds with their songs, hidden high in the trees overhead. He breathes in deeply and smells dirt and moss and the faint freshness of a brook he knows is just over a nearby hill. He licks his lips at the thought of the cool, clear water splashing over his tongue in icy bursts, although for now he only tastes humidity; hot and thick.

The most impressive is sight, of course: miles and miles of lush greenery supported by deep, life-giving browns; golden patches of sunlight that sway with the wind and turn everything they touch into warm, buttery pads of earth; the clear blue sky reigning over her domain like an attentive eye of sapphire. Yuta doesn’t need to see, though. He can close his eyes and wander far into the depths of this forest and still find his way out before his mother calls his name for dinner. He can run as fast as his ten year old legs can manage and not trip over a single outgrown root, because the forest is like his second home; respected and loved just as much as his first.

Yuta has always felt a connection to this ancient forest— _his_ forest; gentle and safe—like the evils of the world cannot reach him here; or, perhaps, anywhere. Maybe this is why the bunnies visit him.

He noticed when he was eight that if he stays long enough among the trees, small, soft rabbits of all colors begin to gather at his heels. They’ve never seemed afraid of him—though he did learn very quickly not to be rough with the little creatures—and they have always felt like friends. He figures that they don’t know to fear humans, because few besides himself ever spend much time in the sprawling, daunting woods.

(Well, there was that one time he awoke from a nap in a patch of fire-orange verbena—bunnies curled against his sides—and he swore he saw, through his sleepy haze, a tall man with slender limbs and large, gentle eyes a few feet away. He was petting one of the bunnies and whispering to it happily—and his presence was so familiar, like that of a watchful guardian—but when Yuta sat up with a loud yawn, he vanished in the glow of the afternoon sun).

He supposes the bunnies feel as safe here as he does; comforted and protected by sturdy wooden arms.

**15 years later**

— _Summer_ —

_“You know, when we said we’d meet at 1 o-clock, we meant PM.”_

“I know,” Yuta groans, voice dragging in an apologetic whine. He sidesteps an uneven crack in the pavement as he runs to reach an upcoming crosswalk before the light finishes flashing. He doesn’t make it in time and halts with a huff, catching his breath as the cars take their turn. “Practice kicked my ass yesterday and I knocked out before I could set my alarm.”

Over the phone, Yuta’s friend—Johnny—laughs; it’s a pleasant, cheerful sound. _“It’s cool,”_ he says. _“There’s another train in twenty minutes. Just get your butt down here before Taeyong starts pouting.”_

Muffled in the background among the chatter of a Saturday afternoon crowd, Yuta can hear his other partner in crime—Johnny’s roommate, Taeyong—insist that he isn’t going to start pouting, but he would very much like to hurry and try the new pop-up café before all the best desserts sell out, thank you.

Fortunately—for Taeyong’s sake—the crosswalk light changes. Yuta steps into the street just as a gust of wind brushes his cheeks and fills his nose with the warm scent of dirt and moss. He arrives at the train station a few minutes later and buys his friends’ tickets to repay them for waiting, though they both insist it’s not necessary.

“It’s my fault we missed our train,” Yuta says with a shrug. He shifts from foot to foot as they wait at their platform. “Man, I’m starving.”

There is a line once they reach the trendy little café space, but it’s well worth the wait. Everything is picture-worthy, and even Johnny—a self-proclaimed coffee connoisseur—enjoys his frothy latte. Yuta goes for a matcha version and Taeyong tries the strawberry. Between the three of them, they split enough cake, pastries, and pudding to feed Yuta’s whole cohort of soccer trainees, he thinks. They probably don’t need to know that he just ate his weight in buttercream, though.

“Oh, whoa,” Taeyong gasps, sitting up in his chair as they all bask in an after-meal daze.

“What?” Yuta mumbles, slouching deeper in his booth seat.

“Oh my god— look.” Taeyong holds his phone out and Johnny and Yuta begrudgingly move forward to read the news article displayed on the screen. Taeyong summarizes it for them anyway. “There was an incident on the train before ours. Some drunk guy with a knife. No one was killed but he injured a few people before he was restrained. They’re recovering in the hospital now.”

“Damn,” Johnny says, eyebrows raising. “We could have been there.” He nudges Yuta’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing you were late after all.”

Yuta nods, feeling a rush of relief in his chest at the thought of his friends avoiding any harm. “Lucky,” he says.

— _Fall_ —

Yuta steps out from the stuffy heat of the locker rooms into the crisp evening air with a grateful sigh. He shouts a farewell at his remaining training mates and zips his jacket all the way up to his neck. It’s about a half hour walk from the training grounds to Taeyong’s work; a decent, relaxing cool-down after a grueling day. He reaches into his gym bag and double checks that he brought Taeyong’s forgotten Nintendo Switch with him and, once confirming that he does indeed have Taeyong’s most treasured item, sets off on foot.

The longer he walks, the quicker hunger catches up to him. He grins at the thought of what he might be treated to in exchange for going out of his way to return the console Taeyong left at his place the day before. Johnny had offered to drive by and pick it up, but Yuta _insisted_.

It’s after 7 PM so Taeyong’s dance studio is technically closed. Yuta ignores the glass front doors and heads around back, where he lets himself in. He slows his pace when he hears shouting.

“You said yourself that my Miyoung is the best dancer in your advanced class!” a woman presses. “It doesn’t make sense that the best student isn’t given this season’s dance solo!”

“Yes, she is very good,” Taeyong says, trying to keep his voice gentle and placating. “But sometimes dance is about feeling, too. After observing everyone in the class and taking their collective teamwork into account, I gave the part to the student who really embodies the music during the transition from our first act to the nex—”

The woman scoffs loudly. “Miyoung can do anything that girl can do! I know you’re a nice teacher, so I’m sure you felt the need to hand a good part to someone with such a… _low_ income, but I will not stand for my daughter getting pushed aside out of pity!”

Yuta steps into the lobby and sees that it’s empty, save for Taeyong, an enraged dance mom, and a young girl sitting in a chair off to the side; her head is down and her ears are red, and she appears mortified at the scene her mother is causing. Outside, a bustle of birds sing in their high, hidden branches.

“Yuta,” Taeyong says, surprised; as though he forgot about their arrangement. “Sorry, I’ll be a minute…”

Yuta crouches down by the girl—Miyoung, he presumes—and smiles. “Do you like dancing?” he asks.

She peeks at him and nods quietly.

Yuta smiles charmingly. “I can tell. You’re in the advanced class, so you must work super hard. In fact, I think I remember you from last year’s recital. You looked like a K-pop idol up there. It was really cool!”

Miyoung smiles and rubs her feet together shyly.

Yuta stands and faces Miyoung’s mother. “Your daughter has more talent than anyone else I’ve seen at her age.” That’s a lie—he doesn’t remember if he’s seen this girl before—but if Taeyong says she’s good, then she must be. “There’s no doubt that she’ll grow into a successful dancer, and I’m sure she owes that all to how much you believe in her.”

Miyoung’s mother nods curtly.

“Right now, as her mother, you just want her to reach out and grab hold of everything that you know she deserves, and that’s very noble of you. But when you think about it—once she’s a star with more people begging for her attention than you can handle—one solo dance in a small studio production will pale in comparison. I bet she won’t even remember it.”

Miyoung’s mother hesitates; looks like she’s taking in all that Yuta’s saying.

“But that other girl?” Yuta continues. “She’s not well off. Who knows how far she’ll go? This moment—this small solo—is going to mean everything to her.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and laughs. “Well, I’m no dancer, so I don’t mean to overstep… but I am an athlete. I’m aiming for Japan’s national soccer team. I’m here in Korea right now training with a top coach because I was fortunate enough to be given that opportunity. Not everyone is as lucky as me, and I know that. I see players lose everything, all the time. We’re all just clinging on to the best chances we can get.”

He nods his head at Miyoung. “She doesn’t need to cling on to the smallest moments. That’s a blessing.”

Taeyong hasn’t moved this entire time—he may not even be breathing—but when Miyoung’s mother eventually concedes and stutters through an apology and the studio is finally empty, he flings himself into Yuta’s arms.

 _“Thank you,”_ he says, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Yuta gives him a squeeze and ruffles his hair.

Taeyong sinks into the chair that Miyoung vacated. “Yuta, you’re a spot of sunshine, you know that? Whenever you walk into the room, it’s like… It’s like anything bad gets forced out.”

Over the past few weeks, Yuta’s noticed something off about Johnny. He still laughs more than anyone Yuta knows, but the sound doesn’t come from the heart. His outfits—usually picked with careful consideration—appear a little more casual than his normal, semi-formal style. (He always likes to feel professional and ready for work, even when he’s editing from home). An upswing in idol comebacks and, consequently, a demand for professional photos has kept Johnny pretty busy, but he’s been busy before and this just seems _different_.

Yuta stops by Johnny and Taeyong’s place one Tuesday afternoon with take-out in hand and not a clue what to expect. He’s met with a distinct lack of Taeyong—normal; it’s a work day, after all—and Johnny lying on the couch in old basketball shorts and a furrow in his brow; decidedly not normal.

“Are you okay?” Yuta asks, setting the food on the coffee table and squeezing himself onto the couch until Johnny’s forced to sit up and give him room. He grabs a bottle of water from his bag and takes a swig—cool water splashing over his tongue reminiscent of a crisp, flowing brook—then offers the drink to Johnny.

Johnny refuses. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs slowly. “Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on life?” he asks in return. He doesn’t wait for a response, though, and mumbles, “My little cousin back in the States graduated high school last month.”

“Oh, congratulations,” Yuta says.

Johnny gives him a half-hearted smile. “I just can’t stop thinking about it,” he says. “I swear he was, like, 12 the last time I saw him, and now…”

 _‘Ah,’_ Yuta thinks. _‘I know what this is. I’ve lived this.’_ He grabs a throw pillow and puts it in his lap, then yanks Johnny down onto it by the shoulders. Johnny yelps when his head hits the pillow and he looks up at Yuta with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re homesick,” Yuta declares.

“I’ve been in Korea for almost ten years,” Johnny says. “I’m over being homesick.”

“No you’re not!” Yuta insists, leaning down and staring into Johnny’s eyes. “And that’s okay! Does life ever stop moving forward just because you’re not around to witness it? Of course not. Your cousin is growing up, and you’re not there to be a part of it. That makes you sad, and that’s okay.”

Johnny’s body begins to relax in Yuta’s lap.

“You’re missing graduations. You’re missing birthdays. Holidays. Home-cooked meals.” Yuta smiles widely. “Instead, you just have me and some Chinese take-out that I may have dropped on the sidewalk on the way here.”

Johnny snorts and finally pushes Yuta’s head away by the chin.

Undeterred, Yuta gently brushes hair from Johnny’s forehead. “I know what it’s like to miss home. It really, really sucks. But I learned to embrace those feelings because, when you think about it, they’re good feelings. You miss things because you love them, and knowing—without a shadow of a doubt—that you’ve never stopped loving the things that are most important to you… Well, that’s kinda reassuring, isn’t it?”

Johnny blinks up at Yuta for a moment. He brings an arm up and throws it over his eyes, and the small chuckle he lets out soon morphs into gasps for breath as cathartic tears trickle down his cheeks.

Yuta doesn’t say anything more, because he knows that sometimes all anyone is ever looking for is someone to witness their emotions and make them feel real. They just stay there for the better part of an hour, Yuta trying to will as much comfort into Johnny that he can.

“You know,” Johnny finally says, voice tired but much lighter than before.

“Hm?” Yuta hums.

“I’m happy to have you and some messy take-out. When you’re around, it feels like the darkness can’t touch us.”

Yuta doesn’t remember how it happened.

One minute he was watching the crosswalk light flash green; the next, he’s on the ground. People are gathering around him and everyone is speaking at once, but he can’t hear a thing. They all seem so concerned, but he feels fine. He just needs to get up—the light is about to change—so he moves one leg and then another—

 _‘Oh?’_ Yuta looks down. His leg won’t move.

He must have lost consciousness at some point, because the next time Yuta blinks his heavy eyelids open, he’s in a hospital room. His body feels on the verge of distress, like a thin veil blanketed over his limbs is just barely keeping the pain away. He can hear familiar voices and turns his head to see Johnny and Taeyong talking with a doctor near the door. Taeyong notices that he’s awake first and rushes over to him.

“Yuta!” he gasps. He takes hold of Yuta’s hand carefully. His eyes are puffy. Johnny comes over to his other side and lightly strokes his shoulder.

“You were quite lucky,” the doctor says, giving him a pleasant smile. Her red lipstick is very pretty. “Your leg was the only thing struck by that car. The surgery was successful; your broken bones should heal without a hitch in due time.”

“Surgery?” Yuta echoes, and his voice sounds dry. Johnny offers him water, but Yuta can only focus on the sinking feeling in his gut.

“Yes,” the doctor says, double checking the chart in her hands. “We determined that emergency surgery was the fastest way to begin repairing the largest break, and we also discovered that the impact caused you to completely tear your anterior cruciate ligament. Measures were taken to surgically treat the tear, as it was deemed a necessity, and we will refer you to a physical therapist to follow up if you do not already have one.”

“The driver is taking full responsibility,” Taeyong says. “You won’t have to pay for any of this, and the money you’ll get from the settlement will keep you comfortable for a while.”

“You can call us if you need anything,” Johnny adds. “No matter what. We’ll be there, okay?”

But Yuta can’t hear them. His mind is reeling—wheels roaring a mile a minute—and his chest feels heavy. An ACL tear… his knee is ruined. Maybe he can get back to normal function, but it would take months; a year, even. And no one can guarantee that he’ll jump back to the level he needs to be at as a national soccer team candidate. The sport won’t wait for him. His coach can’t afford to wait for him. Every day, hopeful players who are younger and healthier than he will aim for his spot—will aim _higher_ —and he can’t compete. Not anymore.

He shuts his eyes, sinks back into his pillow, and lets out a slow, shaky breath.

— _Winter_ —

Yuta makes a habit of stopping by a local coffee shop after each physical therapy session, more often than not meeting Johnny there and listening to him talk about work. It’s fascinating, he thinks, how passionate Johnny can get when he launches into a story about the photoshoot he just did or the art direction discussed in a meeting he had that week. Yuta’s forgotten what having passion feels like.

“You like them, right?” Johnny asks.

Yuta blinks. “Huh?”

“The girl group I’m working with tomorrow. Want me to get you their autographs?”

Yuta shrugs and puts on a smile. “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble. Thanks.”

Johnny looks as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.

Having Taeyong over is nice. He fills the silence with little subconscious noises as he plays video games, and he loves to cook for Yuta whenever he can. He says he likes being at Yuta’s apartment to unwind, because Johnny always brings work home and it can feel a little too formal at their place when he’s on a deadline. Yuta doesn’t particularly see the appeal of his little studio; he can’t remember the last time he felt relaxed and weightless in his own home.

“Do you wanna play?” Taeyong asks, holding his Switch out to Yuta. Yuta takes it and mindlessly makes Taeyong’s little character run around his island dwelling. “I’ll make some ramen. Let’s do three packs— I’m _starving._ ”

“Tough day at work?” Yuta asks, voice coming out mild and monotonous.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says on his way to the kitchen. “The recital is next weekend so all my classes are working really hard to nail everything. Those kids have way more energy than I do.”

“You have a lot of energy,” Yuta remarks. A bit jealous, perhaps. PT absolutely annihilates him in both body and spirit.

Taeyong hums and glances at Yuta through the steam of his boiling water.

“You doing okay?” Johnny asks for the third time.

Yuta nods and continues following Johnny up the hiking trail lightly dusted with snow. Johnny had called him the hour before and told him to wear something comfortable, and before Yuta knew it they were driving out of the city and parking on a scenic overlook. Yuta has no idea what Johnny has in store for him, and he can’t stop worrying that he’ll slip and injure his knee. Then again, what’s a few more months of physical therapy on a useless limb.

They stop by an old tree stump and Johnny sets down the black bag he brought with him. He unzips it and pulls out a camera and a few different lenses.

“Need me to help on a job?” Yuta asks.

“Nope,” Johnny says. “This is for you.” He fastens a lense onto his camera and holds it out for Yuta.

“What?”

“I want you to try taking some photos. Just look through the viewfinder and snap a pic of whatever feels right to you.”

Yuta tentatively holds the camera in both hands—this thing is _definitely_ worth more than his rent—then quickly puts the strap around his neck. “So I just…?” He brings the camera to his face and hovers a finger over what he assumes is the correct button to press.

Johnny nods. “Have a look around.”

Yuta starts at the sky—now beginning to turn a light shade of orange—and takes a picture because he thinks something pretty like that is what he should be capturing. He moves on to the bare, snow-covered trees around them, then some bushes a little ways off. He zooms in and starts to move his focus outwards, panning over the life in this small suburb. Lights glow yellow in the windows of family homes; cars stop and go, stop and go on squished streets; he sees a group of children walking away from what looks like a school, and right next to it is—

He freezes.

Though the figures are small and the details distant, he stares through the camera at a soccer field. White lines of paint stick out against deep green grass that had been freshly plowed, and the unmistakable shapes of goalposts are planted on either end of the fenced-off area. Two teams of children run around each other with jackets zipped tight and smiles on their faces, and Yuta swears he can hear the solid _thunk_ of a good kick as their soccer ball goes flying down the field.

He lowers the camera.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Johnny just stands against the tree stump with his arms crossed. “Why not?”

“I’m not a photographer,” Yuta snaps.

“You were enjoying it just a second ago.”

“And now I’m done.” He removes the camera strap and tries to hand the instrument back to Johnny, but Johnny doesn’t take it.

“Keep going.”

“What? No.”

“Keep going, Yuta.”

“Johnny, I hate photography.”

“You haven’t done it enough to hate it. Then, do you hate how the sunset looks?”

Yuta frowns. This is dumb. “No.”

“What about the trees?”

“The trees are fine, Johnny.”

“So you hate flowers.”

“I worked in a flower shop for two years.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

_“No.”_

“You hate soccer.”

 _“Yes,”_ Yuta explodes, voice cracking and eyes burning. “God, is that what you brought me all the way here for? To make me hate myself even more?”

Johnny takes a step forward. “I asked if you hate soccer, not yourself,” he says.

“Same thing!” Yuta cries, dropping the camera to the ground in anger.

Johnny doesn’t seem fazed by the potential damage. “It’s not,” he says. He clasps a firm hand on Yuta’s shoulder. “Your life revolved around soccer so you think that soccer is your life, but it’s not. _Life_ is everything that happens around you. It’s a sunset, it’s nature, it’s all those little dots down there—every single one of them people with their own story and their own dream. But you’re ignoring _life_ because you’re fixating on soccer and hating it, and you’re hating yourself. You’re keeping everything bottled up because admitting that soccer was your past means accepting that it’s not your future anymore, and you don’t know how to do that.”

Yuta stares at Johnny, unblinking.

Johnny smiles. “And that’s okay. You’re sad, and that’s okay. The truth is, you love soccer and you always will. Missing the things you love just means that you haven’t lost your way. A wise monk told me that.”

Yuta snorts, then sobs, then bawls. Each breath he takes flows down into his lungs, cold and refreshing—a river of relief. He feels himself get pulled into a warm embrace; feels the stress and the pain bubble up through his throat and exit his body with every hot, messy tear; hefeels loss, and he feels acceptance.

“Thanks again for coming,” Taeyong says as he guides Yuta to the front desk. “Our receptionist’s baby came way sooner than anyone was expecting— well, you know this already. You’re really saving our necks here. We always get a ton of new signups and renewals after a recital and the instructors can’t handle those _and_ their classes.”

“No problem,” Yuta says, sitting heavily in the padded chair. It’s good to be off his feet after PT. “I have nothing else to do anyway.”

“About that…” Taeyong says, hesitating. “Stay after closing, okay? I wanna show you something.”

The day is busy, as Taeyong predicted, but Yuta manages. He waits until students are gone and most lights are off before wandering into Taeyong’s studio room. Taeyong is still in his workout gear and two water bottles stand at his feet.

“Come here,” he says after spotting Yuta through the mirrored wall. Yuta stands beside him and looks at the both of them. “I want you to do what I do.”

Yuta frowns—he didn’t sign up to do more work after hours—but does as he’s told. Taeyong starts out with stretches, then turns on a simple beat and begins moving his limbs in slow, fluid motions. Yuta follows easily until they get to his injured leg.

“What’s wrong?” Taeyong asks.

“You know what’s wrong,” Yuta says, more curt than he’s ever been with his gentle friend.

“I want you to do what I do,” Taeyong repeats. He moves his leg up, bent at the knee, then brings it down again.

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can, Yuta. You can do way more than this, too.”

Yuta huffs and follows the move. They continue like this, with Taeyong steadily increasing the difficulty level and urging Yuta through every step that involves his leg.

“That’s wrong,” Taeyong says. “Watch me.”

Yuta grows more and more frustrated with every wrong step he takes. Each time he puts his foot down, it’s a hard, unforgiving surface.

“Watch, Yuta.”

Step, step, fail.

“Pay attention.”

Step, fail. Step, step, step, fail.

“I need you to run through the whole thing.”

Step, fail. Reset. Step, step, step, step. Fail. Yuta growls in anger and starts over immediately, staring at himself in the mirror; analyzing every angle of his body until he gets it right.

Step, step, step, step, step, step. _Step._

 _“Hah!”_ Yuta cries out, stomping his good leg down on the last beat and feeling as though the floor has given way to his heart; a familiar press into soft, accepting soil. The room grows silent save for his own heavy breathing. It’s warm now—sweat trickles down the back of his neck into the collar of his T-shirt—and his heart is racing in exertion. He glances to the side and notices that Taeyong had stopped dancing after a while; now, he just stands and claps.

“How do you feel?” he asks. “You just learned a whole dance.”

Yuta looks back at himself in the mirror. He sees messy hair and flushed cheeks and a guy who has almost no idea what he’s doing.

He sees a smile.

— _Spring_ —

“I’m right down the hall in 204, so let me know if you need anything, Dear.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Choi,” Yuta says with a polite bow. “I should be all set. I finished moving all my things this morning.” After a few more pleasantries, he bids his new landlady goodbye and sets off for work.

Taeyong is the first to greet him, as he is every shift. The kids entering the studio as he sits at the front desk run up to him and begin excitedly babbling about what happened that week on their favorite cartoon. Yuta listens with rapt attention and reacts at all the right times.

When classes are over, he dances. His knee no longer protests when he goes for too long, and his stamina once again lasts for hours (though Taeyong never lets him stay that long— “Rest is _important_ , Yuta.”).

On weekends, he goes out with Johnny and Taeyong; sometimes to treasured places, sometimes to new adventures. He isn’t picky; he knows that wherever his most important people are, the bad cannot follow. He’s tried joining in on a casual soccer game at their local park once or twice, but he’s not ready for that yet, and that’s okay. He has time.

_“Thanks again for agreeing to do some test shots with me,”_ Johnny says over the phone.

“Of course,” Yuta says, pressing his phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he slips on a light windbreaker. “You’re buying lunch. How could I refuse?”

Johnny laughs, and it’s a lovely sound. _“Yeah, yeah. Just get your butt over here.”_

Yuta laughs back and exits his apartment to a gust of air that’s not too hot, not too cold. He waits at the foot of his building’s steps for a little girl and her mother to pass with their excited golden retriever, then he sets off in the opposite direction. Birds chirp in the trees planted along the sidewalk and the sun twinkles high in the clear blue sky.

At his feet, resilient flowers sprout from uneven cracks, their fiery petals bursting through concrete with passion and light.

_Verbena_

_「 well wishes・healing・protection 」_

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this wasn't too sad, but i really wanted to write a story about yuta going through GROWTH!!! no pun intended. i think he's someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, so i thought it would be interesting to explore different emotions he might go through (and how he'd eventually come out on top of a difficult situation). always believe in your inner strength and also the strength of friendship, yuta!! fun fact, verbena is his birthday flower according to one website. i think it suits him very well :)
> 
> and yes, the forest spirit who always watched over yuta as a child was doyoung. i am nothing if not predictable.
> 
>   
> say hi!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/negibun) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/negibun)
> 
>   
> 


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